That Morning
by icecreamandfernweh
Summary: Tony knows right away that today will be one of those days. Those days when he can't stop thinking about the past. Those days when he just wants to forget. (basically my take on the whole 'why doesn't Tony like to be handed things'.)


Sighing, Tony swirled his glass of scotch before draining the contents. He moved to pour himself another glass and changed his mind halfway through, instead opting to drink straight out of the bottle. Today had been a rough day. He knew it would be the moment he woke up. He had quietly slipped out from Pepper's arms and moved to the bathroom, spending a good hour in the shower. Afterwards he went straight to his lab, instructing JARVIS to cut off access for everyone else. He tried to concentrate on his work – some new arrows for Clint – but his mind kept going back to that morning.

 _Tony, 21 and feeling the need to prove it, had drunk himself to oblivion the night before. He was rudely awaked by knocking on his bedroom door. Groaning, he cracked open an eye, wincing immediately when the light made the pounding in his head multiply._

" _What do you want?" Tony snapped tiredly, glancing at the clock. 5:30. Somebody better had died to warrant him being awoken so early._

" _I apologize, sir, but there are some men here requesting your presence. They say it's urgent," a maid explained._

 _Tony burrowed back into his bed, replying, "Tell them it can wait. Or better yet, tell them to find someone who cares." Footsteps could be heard walking away, and Tony sighed contentedly, ready to go back to sleep._

Distracted, Tony's hand slipped, and he sliced into the pad of his thumb. He only noticed when JARVIS said something, prompting him to put down the arrow and suck on the cut. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but he needed to bandage it to avoid getting blood all over the place. He went through the motions mechanically, barely realizing what he was doing as he got out the first aid kit. When it was finished he found himself sitting at his bar, already getting out a glass. It was never too early to drink.

 _It was only a few minutes before the maid returned, knocking louder this time._

" _I told you to go away," Tony complained, covering his face with a pillow. He stretched his arms out, surprised when one of them hit flesh. Frowning, Tony removed the pillow and looked over to his left. There was a girl there, sleeping. The bedding had slipped and revealed that she was naked. Tony lifted up the covers and found he was also not wearing anything. Huh. Definitely didn't remember that._

 _He came back to reality when the maid responded, "The men insist you come out, sir. I don't think they'll leave until you do."_

 _Tony groaned for the second time that morning and said, "Fine, I'll be out soon." Once again, the maid walked away, and Tony sat up slowly in his bed, rubbing his eyes. The girl next to him mumbled something and shifted in her sleep, but she didn't wake up. He'd have the maid take care of her later. He managed to stand up, but immediately regretted it. He made it to the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach into the toilet. He splashed his face with cold water, then cupped his hands and drank, feeling a little better now that the nausea was gone._

 _Walking back into his room, Tony grabbed the wrinkled clothing piled on the ground and dressed, not caring that he'd look like a slob in front of whoever was waiting to see him. When he was finished, he noticed a small line of white on his bedside table. Wouldn't want that to go to waste, now would we? A short snort later and Tony was ready to go. He pulled open his door and stalked down the hall._

Tony threw down the empty bottle and reached for another, trapped in his thoughts. It was common knowledge that he didn't like to be handed things. He had heard a lot of theories about why this was, the most common being that he was just an asshole who thought he was better than everyone else. Some claimed it was a symptom of OCD, others said it was a way of distancing himself from people or responsibility. One of the more logical ideas was that in the past he had signed any paper put in front of him, resulting in terrible things happening because of his weapons. His personal favorite was that attacks on him in his childhood was the root of the problem.

Tony let everyone believe whatever the hell they wanted. It was better than seeing the looks of pity he'd be sure to get if they knew the true reason.

 _He reached the entrance hall and saw two men dressed in suits, looking serious. One held an envelope in his hand._

" _Alright, what is so important that you needed to interrupt my beauty sleep?" Tony asked, crossing his arms and staring lazily at the intruders. He had perfected the look of not giving a shit long ago. "I've got a naked girl in my bed, so make it quick."_

 _The man with the envelope stepped forward and explained, "We're here on behalf of the U.S. government regarding Howard and Maria Stark."_

" _What is it this time?" Tony said disinterestedly, inspecting his fingernails. "Lemme guess, Stark Industries has received another award? Or have you claimed to have found Captain America again? Or do you just want more money? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but my parents are busy living it up in the Bahamas, so if you don't mind I'll just go back to bed." Tony turned to leave, but a hand on his wrist stopped him._

" _Here," the man said, thrusting the letter into Tony's hands. "Just read this." Tony sighed as if this was the biggest inconvenience possible but ripped open the letter anyways._

 _He pretended to read it, saying, "Uh huh, yeah, interesting." Until his eye caught the word 'dead'. Upon seeing that, he shut up and started from the beginning, actually reading this time._

 _"Dear Anthony Stark,_

 _We regret to inform you that Howard and Maria Stark have been fatally injured in a car accident and proclaimed dead early this morning. Protocol requires that you…"_

 _There was more, but the letter fell from his hands before he could read any further. He looked at his shaking hands and fell to his knees, at a loss of words for the first time in his life._

Yes, Tony would rather have people think him an asshole. It wasn't long before he keeled over, welcoming the blackness that meant the alcohol was doing its job.

* * *

 **Reviews very much appreciated! This is my first MCU fanfic, so feedback helps.**


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